


Sweet Tooth

by DarcyDelaney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baker Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney/pseuds/DarcyDelaney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had just expected to tag along to Sam and Jess’ cake tasting for their wedding and get free food. That’s it. The last thing that he’d been prepared for was to meet a ridiculously attractive blue-eyed baker with messy hair and rusty people skills who he’d almost immediately start falling for, but sometimes those things just happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Here’s my entry for the 2016 SPN Reverse Bang! I was lucky enough to be able to work with the lovely [Diminuel](http://diminuel.tumblr.com/), who is basically the sweetest person ever and put up with all of my writing procrastination and last-minute edits with all the patience and all the grace. Her art is so adorable and wonderful and I just want to hug it (and her!) so much. Thank you so much again! <3 Check out her [art masterpost here](http://silly-blue.livejournal.com/126465.html) and leave her all the love!

Added thanks to Alexis for swooping in at the last minute to beta this little guy, and [Athenae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/laureatelaurens) for coming up with bee-scotti! <3

This story is pretty much the epitome of fluff, just so you know. Also, here, [have a playlist](http://8tracks.com/darcydelaney/sweet-tooth) to go along with it!

* * *

 

_ _

_“You smell just like vanilla, you taste like buttercream. You’re filling up my senses with empty calories.”_ -Melanie Martinez, “Cake”

 

 

Dean is going to _kill_ Sam.

He was supposed to meet Sam and Jess at 2:00 for their cake tasting; it’s now 2:15, and there’s still no sign of either of them. Dean slouches down further in the front seat of the Impala and watches as raindrops race each other down the windshield. The clouds up above him are dark and full of rain, and frankly doing nothing to improve Dean’s mood. He sighs and grabs his phone, thumbing through his texts to find Sam’s message with directions and the bakery name.

_It’s called Bumblebee Bakery, right off Main Street, 2:00 on Saturday. DON’T BE LATE, DEAN._

Dean scoffs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sammy,” he mutters, shutting off his phone and shoving it into his jacket pocket. For a second, he wonders if he’s got the wrong place; he glances up across the street at the bakery. It’s a small building made with mismatched brick that looks like it’s been around since the 1900s, with oversized windows that are adorned with different pastry displays and specials written on the glass. There's a warm yellow light emanating from the inside that makes Dean want to come inside and out of the dark, chilly interior of the Impala. The light pink oval sign hanging above the door reads BUMBLEBEE BAKERY in looping, pale yellow lettering, and there’s a fat bumblebee buzzing around the name.

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s at the right place.

With a sigh, Dean exits the car and makes his way across the street to the bakery, doing his best to dodge the raindrops. If he’s going to have to wait, he might as well do it surrounded by dessert.

 

A small silver bell jingles above his head as Dean pushes the bakery door open, and the fragrances of vanilla, cinnamon, pumpkin, and at least ten other scents Dean can’t identify flow past him and onto the street. The bakery is small, warm, and dry, a welcome reprieve from the drizzly, gray weather outside, and Dean runs a hand through his slightly damp hair as he looks around.

He’s got the place to himself; there’s not even a sign of an employee. He turns back toward the window to double-check the hours--open for another three--before taking in the rest of the bakery. The walls are painted a light pink to match the sign outside, and different pastel-colored paintings of pastries dot the walls. There's a cluster of small tables and chairs in the corner, but the glass pastry cases that line one wall are what  really catch Dean’s attention, and he makes his way over to them.

Cookies, cupcakes, eclairs, cakes--the sheer _variety_ of pastries that are waiting to be eaten is almost overwhelming, and each and every one of them makes Dean’s mouth water. He taps a finger absentmindedly against the glass at a chocolate chip cannoli. He hadn’t eaten lunch in preparation for all the food tasting, and he’s goddamn _starving_.

“You’re mine,” he mutters at it, then glances up to see if anyone has arrived who can help him achieve his mission of getting that cannoli out from behind the glass and into his mouth. While he doesn’t see anyone, he _does_ notice a plate sitting on the top of one of the cases. There’s a small placard next to it, and Dean smirks when he reads the words “Today’s special: bee-scotti” with a hastily-drawn bumblebee buzzing around the letters.

“Bee-scotti, huh,” Dean says to himself. He reaches forward and plucks a piece off the half-empty plate. “Don't mind if I d--”

There's a loud clattering of trays coming from the back room, and then a slightly flustered--but still ridiculously attractive, Dean is quick to note--man bursts out into the bakery. “I am _so_ sorry,” he says breathlessly, and on instinct, Dean shoves the entire piece of biscotti into his mouth before looking up at him. “I’m Castiel Novak; you must be Sam,” the man continues without taking a breath; he reaches out and shakes Dean’s hand vigorously before placing a hand on Dean’s elbow and leading him gently toward one of the tables. Dean makes a soft noise of protest around the biscotti--which is actually pretty damn good--as Castiel pulls out a chair for him, then takes a seat in one across the table.

“I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting,” he says, sliding a pale blue folder across the table toward Dean. “There was an...incident that needed attending to, and I just lost track of time.” He leans across the table and taps the folder with two fingers. “I put together a list of some cake flavors and other ideas I thought you and Jessica might like to try.” He looks up at Dean, cocking his head slightly to the side like a confused puppy, and adds, “Speaking of, where is Jessica?”

Dean stares at Castiel and chews on his biscotti slowly before swallowing and giving the man a crooked smile. “Wanna hear a funny story?” he asks. Castiel stays silent, looking at Dean expectantly, and Dean is struck by the fact that even if the folder had been ten shades brighter, it still wouldn’t have come close to the piercing intensity of the blue in Castiel’s eyes. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever seen _anything_ as blue as this guy’s eyes, and it’s a little unnerving, if he’s being honest. “I’m not Sam.”

Castiel had been pale to begin with, but with this admission, Dean watches as what little color had been remaining drains from his face, his eyes widening. “Oh,” he says softly. “Oh, I, I’m so sorry,” he stammers, getting clumsily to his feet. “I thought you were--”

“Hey, hey!” This time it’s Dean’s turn to reach across the table; he grabs the sleeve of Castiel’s sweater and gently coaxes him back into his seat. “I’m Dean, Sam’s brother. I’m guessing he and Jess are just running late.” He gives Castiel another smile before adding, “Relax, dude.”

Castiel stares at him, and after a few seconds, his panic-stricken face slowly morphs into one of relief, and his eyes go soft as he gives Dean a tentative smile. “I was going to offer you a free pastry for bothering you,” he says, smiling shyly, and _goddamn_ if he didn’t get ten times more attractive just with that, with the smallest of smiles.

Dean laughs and gives Castiel a quick wink that makes the man smile embarrassedly, his cheeks going as pink as his sweater. “You’re the furthest thing from bothering me, man,” he says, trailing off slightly as his eyes wander back to the pastry cases, “but, I mean, I wouldn’t turn down one of those chocolate chip cannolis over there, as, uh, penance for your sins or whatever.”

“Of course.” Apparently thrilled that he’s got a new matter to focus on, Castiel’s face breaks into a wider grin as he heads toward the glass case.

Dean gets to his feet and follows, taking in Castiel’s lean body, one he knows for sure that he wouldn’t have if he worked in a place like this. “Had some of that bisc-- _bee_ -scotti earlier,” he says, pleased when he catches Castiel grin at his correction. “It was awesome. You should make sure Sam and Jess order those for the wedding along with their cake.”

A flush makes its way up Castiel’s neck and onto his cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you,” he says as he slips behind the case and reaches for one of the cannolis with a piece of wax paper. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Did you make ‘em?”

Castiel nods. “I make everything here.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Shit. I’m ready for that cannoli, then.”

“These were just made a few hours ago, actually,” he says, handing the cannoli to Dean.

“Perfect,” Dean says, accepting the cannoli from Castiel reverently. “Been eyeing ‘em since I got here.” He takes a bite of the cannoli and chews contemplatively, trying not to notice the way Castiel’s eyes are locked hopefully on him, waiting for his reaction. In all honesty, it’s probably the best cannoli he’s ever tasted; the shell is crispy but not too hard, and the ricotta cheese is whipped to perfection, but he tries to stay cool. He swallows, then grins at Castiel. “Y’know what, make ‘em have the biscotti _and_ these cannolis,” he says before taking another bite.

Castiel gives him another pleased smile. “I’ll be sure to make the suggestion,” he says, and heads back to the table. Dean follows him, trying to catch any stray crumbs from falling onto the polished hardwood floors. Once they’re both seated again, Dean takes a minute to take Castiel in, and realizes that he looks almost as uncomfortable as Dean. The tan and pink sweaters Castiel is wearing look new, like he hasn’t had a chance to break them in yet. Dean pulls at the collared shirt under his own new sweater that Sam had forced him to wear--”At least _try_ and look nice today, Dean, please?”--and glances down at the folder in front of him again.

“So, what kind of stuff you got picked out for Sammy and Jess?” he asks once he’s finished the last of the cannoli, reaching for the folder and flipping it open. He’s greeted with a wide array of lists of cakes, cupcakes, and cookies, each with mouthwatering pictures to go along with them. Lemon cream, chocolate trifle, vanilla with raspberry filling--it all sounds like the makings for a perfect afternoon food coma, and Dean can’t wait to get started. “Jesus, these look good,” he says, more to himself than Castiel. “Glad I don’t have to choose.”

“I hope Sam and Jessica agree with you,” Castiel says, wringing his hands awkwardly in his lap.

“Trust me, they will,” Dean says, turning back to the folder. As he continues looking through the desserts, he suddenly realizes what’s been missing this whole time, and it hits him like a freight train; he’s not sure how he didn’t notice it sooner. “Hey, where’s your pie?”

“I, uh, pie isn’t usually a traditional wedding des--”

“No, no, I know that, but I haven’t seen any pie in here, dude. Like, _at all_.”

Castiel hesitates. “I don’t usually make pie,” he says, and this just about blows Dean’s mind.

“You don’t usually make pie?” he repeats, trying and failing to keep the disbelief out of his voice. “A bakery that doesn’t sell pie.” It’s not a question; it’s more like he’s just trying to wrap his head around the fact. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says with a shake of his head and a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says softly, and when Dean takes a moment to look at Castiel, he’s surprised to see that the guy looks genuinely upset. “I should have been more prepared. If you want some pie, there are a couple of wonderful bakeries in the area that--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean interrupts. “I’m not leaving, don’t worry about it. It was just an observation, and, well, kind of a wish, I guess.” He chuckles to himself, then adds, “Hell, all your other stuff is so good, I know your pie would be great, dude.”

Castiel looks up at him through long eyelashes, and Dean feels his heart speed up a little. “That’s nice of you to say, Dean.”

Dean purses his lips and studies Castiel curiously. The man still won’t look him straight in the eye, and Dean worries his lower lip between his teeth, wondering if it’s his place to ask before actually doing so. “Uh, hey, are you... _okay_ , Castiel?”

Castiel sighs before finally looking Dean in the eye. “This is my first day doing--” he waves his hand around the room “-- _this_. My sister owns the bakery with me, but I usually just do the baking while she does everything else. She said I needed to practice being the ‘face’ of the bakery, because apparently my ‘people skills’ are ‘rusty,’“ he says, making air quotes as he speaks.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Your ‘people skills’ seem ‘pretty damn good’ to me. You’re doing fine, Castiel,” he says, his voice going gentle on the last sentence.

Castiel gives Dean another smile, this one just as small, but shining with a bit more confidence that makes warmth flare up in Dean’s chest. “Thank you, Dean.”

Before either of them can say anything else, the bell above the door jingles again, and Dean turns around to see Sam and Jess truding in out of the rain. Sam shakes his damp hair out of his eyes, and Dean can’t help but think of a dog shaking itself off after running around in the rain. Jess drops the hood of her jacket and gives them a warm smile and a small wave. Dean waves back before immediately digging into his little brother.

“Oh, would ya look who it is! ‘Don’t be late, Dean,’” he mimics as Sam and Jess head for the table, and Sam’s cheeks go red.

“It wasn’t our fault, Dean,” Sam says, taking a seat. “The florist was running behind.” The chair is so small underneath him, it looks like he’s sitting on doll furniture.

Jess nudges Dean with her shoulder and adds, “It also took him a while to get his hair in check this morning.”

“Only to be ruined by the rain,” Dean says. “What a shame.”

Jess shakes her head solemnly. “A moment of silence for Sam’s ruined hair,” she says, reaching over and ruffling her fiance’s locks. Dean smirks. He likes Jess; Sam picked a great girl to spend the rest of his life with.

Sam groans. “Thanks, babe. Knew I could count on you.” Jess beams proudly and gives him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Love you,” she says in a singsong voice.

Sam smiles begrudgingly at her, then turns back to Dean, pointing at him accusingly. “And _you_ , are you really complaining when _we’re_ the ones letting you tag along for free food?”

Dean grins and leans back in his chair smugly. “I’ve already had free bee-scotti and probably the greatest goddamn cannoli ever known to mankind, no thanks to you.” He nods toward Castiel, who’s watching the three of them patiently, waiting for his chance to speak.

“God, we are _so_ sorry,” Sam says, reaching out to shake Castiel’s hand. “We should’ve called or something to let you know we were running late.”

“Should’ve called _me_ , too,” Dean mutters, and Sam elbows him hard in the ribs.

“I hope he wasn’t too much trouble,” Sam adds, nodding toward Dean with a smirk.

Castiel shakes his head. “Dean was actually very pleasant company,” he says, giving Dean another one of those small smiles. A blush starts to build on Dean’s cheeks, and he can feel Sam’s and Jess’ eyes on him, so he keeps his trained on the table.

“This is yours,” he says quickly, shoving the folder toward the two of them. “Go nuts.”

“Yes,” Castiel says as Sam and Jess lean closer together to study the folder. Dean looks up and he catches Castiel looking at him instead of Sam and Jess; Castiel averts his eyes quickly when Dean’s lock with his. “Let’s get started.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Shut up.”

Sam, Jess, and Dean are sprawled out in a booth at the Thirsty Frog, toasting a successful cake tasting, as well as the fact that nearly everything on Sam and Jess’ wedding to-do list is now crossed off. Everything had been going great: Sam and Jess had fallen in love with a delicious chocolate creme cake with vanilla icing; Dean had convinced them to add cannolis as an additional dessert option; Dean’s best friend, Benny was working the bar tonight, which meant free drinks for as long as it took Benny’s boss to catch on. Things would have _still_ been going great, if Sam and Jess hadn’t been spending the last half hour teasing Dean about his new flour-spotted crush.

“I hate you both,” Dean mutters before taking a sip of his beer.

Jess laughs, a high, bright sound that Dean normally likes to hear, but not when it’s being aimed at him. Her cheeks are slightly flushed from her wine, and she rests her head on Sam’s shoulder, a grin spread across her face. “Oh, come on, Dean, you two were _cute_.”

“He was just being nice,” Dean insists. “A good businessman and all that.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, he was looking at you way more than us. Hell, he seemed more concerned with whether or not _you_ liked the cake, and _we_ were the ones paying him.” He leans forward and snaps his fingers in front of Dean’s face. “Wake up, Dean--he likes you.” He grins mischievously at his older brother. “And I think you like him, too.”

“You’re drunk, Sammy,” Dean says with a grin that he hopes is smug. He hopes it doesn’t betray the fact that he had noticed Castiel always looking at him, too, and that Dean had tried more than once during the tasting to catch the baker’s eye. In reality, Dean couldn’t care less whether Sam and Jess picked chocolate creme or a light raspberry icing for their cake; he had more pressing concerns, like trying to figure out the exact shade of blue Castiel’s eyes were.

And whether or not he had a boyfriend. Or if he even liked guys. That part was important, too.

“Yeah, okay, Dean,” Sam says, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to the top of Jess’ head. “You keep telling yourself that. Just make sure you let us know when the wedding’s gonna be, okay?”

Dean nearly chokes on his beer.

 

* * *

 

It’s a week later, and as Dean lays sprawled out over Sam and Jess’ couch absentmindedly stuffing fake flowers into tiny wicker baskets that will serve as centerpieces, he’s still trying to figure out how to get Castiel out of his head.

He wishes he could rub it in Sam’s face that he hasn’t been thinking about the anxious baker and his stupid eyes and his goddamn fucking bakery since the tasting, he wishes it so fucking much, but he can’t, because he has. The shy, slightly awkward, ridiculously attractive baker has barely left Dean’s mind since he, Sam, and Jess left Bumblebee Bakery. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, at the very least he shouldn’t be acting so _obvious_ about it, and the fact that apparently his feelings are blatantly clear to Sam and Jess is just another shot to his ego.

Finally, he can’t take it anymore and gets to his feet with a groan, a handful of stray flowers fluttering to the floor as he stands. “Want me to go see if it's ready?”

Sam looks up from where he and Jess are hunched over the coffee table, putting the finishing touches on the seating plan. “See if what's ready?”

“The cake,” Dean replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “It's been almost a week, how long does it take to bake a damn cake, huh?”

Sam smirks, and Jess looks up at Dean with a sly smile. “We don't pick up the cake, Dean,” she says. “They're going to deliver it right to the venue.”

 _Damn it_. “Oh. Right.”

Sam’s smirk gets wider and he chuckles. “Was there someone you were thinking of going to see, Dean? Someone who...oh, I don't know, bakes cakes and has a name that rhymes with ‘Schmastiel’?”

“Fuck you, Sammy,” Dean says, even as he can feel the flush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. “Just thought I'd do you guys a favor, make it a little easier for the bride and groom, but I see how it is.”

“You know what, Dean?” Jess says suddenly, getting up from her position next to Sam and walking toward him. “I'm sure we could all really use something to eat, some snacks to help us finish up everything for tonight. Could you grab us some? Your choice.” She gives him a hopeful smile and Dean grins.

“‘Course,” he says. “Snacks it is.” He grabs his jacket and the keys to the Impala and heads for the door.

 

 

Dean shouldn't even be going this way; there aren't any grocery or liquor stores in this part of town, but Bumblebee Bakery is, and that's all Dean really cares about, as much as he tries to convince himself otherwise.

“Cookies are snacks,” he mutters in justification as he parks across the street and heads for the building, the mismatched brick and pastel colors like a beacon welcoming him back. “And it's my choice.”

The familiar warmth and comforting scents of baking pastries welcome Dean as he pushes open the door into the bakery, the bell jingling once more. The bakery is crowded today; all of the little cafe tables are full of customers enjoying whatever piece of perfection Castiel had undoubtedly brought to life, and there’s a soft soundtrack of jazz music playing in the background. The open, relaxed atmosphere makes for an inviting place to come and spend a few hours, and it seems as though most people are doing just that.

A slim redheaded woman pokes her head up from behind one of the glass pastry cases as Dean approaches, and she flashes Dean a warm smile. Dean tries his best to return it--she looks nice enough, but he can’t help but feel a sharp pang of disappoint at the fact that she’s not Castiel.

“Hi!” she says. “Welcome to Bumblebee; how can I help you?”

“I, uh.” Dean takes a few more steps forward and starts rapping his knuckles absently on the top of the case, pretending to decide between a black-and-white cookie or a red velvet cupcake, but really trying to figure out the best way to tell this girl that he’s actually looking for the cute blue-eyed guy with a bad case of bedhead and rusty people skills. “I guess I’ll have--”

“Dean?”

And Dean sure as hell knows that voice.

He looks up quickly and finds Castiel staring right back at him, eyes wide, a tray of fresh cookies in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual even as he feels a blush making its way up his neck. God _damn_ it, he doesn’t do this. He doesn’t get _flustered_ around people he likes; he’s Dean fucking Winchester, for chrissake. _Keep it together, Winchester._ “Uh, those look good.” He tilts his chin toward the cookies, and Castiel looks down at them as if he had forgotten they were in his hands.

Before Castiel can reply, though, the redhead interjects. She puts her hand on Castiel’s shoulder and then glances at Dean, and Dean’s not sure how he feels about the look of utter delight on her face.

“Is this him?” she asks excitedly. “Is this _the_ Dean?”

“Anna--”

“Thank you _so much_ ,” the redhead--Anna, presumably--says, reaching across the case for one of Dean’s hands and shaking it hard. “We never would’ve gotten that if it wasn’t for you.” She nods toward a small sign on the other side of the case that Dean hadn’t noticed at first glance.

Written in yellow script on a light blue placard is _Today’s Special: Dean’s Delectable Apple Pie_ , and Dean can’t stop his mouth from falling open. He stares at the sign for a few more seconds, then turns back to Castiel and Anna. “That’s me?” he asks finally, pointing awkwardly to himself. “I’m that Dean?”

Anna nods eagerly while Castiel suddenly takes a renewed interest in his cookies.

“Not as catchy as ‘bee-scotti,’” Dean finally says, smiling faintly. Castiel looks up at him and gives him a cautious smile.

“It was essentially your idea,” he says softly. “It wouldn’t have felt right having it for sale without somehow giving you credit.”

Suddenly, Castiel’s cheeks go red and he stares at Dean, his eyes wide. “I, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice sounding panicked. “This must be so odd for you. I didn’t mean for this to be creepy, or to make you uncomfortable, I just--” He cuts himself off and sets the cookies down before fumbling for the sign.

“Hey.” Before Dean can think twice, he’s got his hand around Castiel’s wrist, stopping him from taking the sign down. Castiel glances at him, confused, and Dean flashes him a smile. “You named a pie after me, dude,” he says, “and to me, that’s the ultimate form of flattery. And plus, apple’s my favorite.” His own smile brightens at the faint trace of one tugging at Castiel’s mouth, and he adds, “So thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” The flush on Castiel’s face is a light pink now, and it, in combination with his eyes, makes Dean think of cotton candy.

Dean nods at him before taking a small step back, working to assume his regular, casual demeanor instead of the flustered teenager he’s suddenly become around Castiel. “So, uh, do I get a piece of my pie, or…?”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, Anna calls, “We’re all out,” while helping another customer. “It’s been our most popular item all day,” she adds, sliding the customer a piece of chocolate cake on a pale pink plate.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, giving Dean an apologetic smile. “Is there something else I can get you instead?”

Dean doesn’t know why he said it, what provoked him to suddenly become a human rom-com. Maybe it was a side effect of being around Sam and Jess, lovebird extraordinaires, for the better part of a year. It could’ve been the fact that Castiel is looking at him with those glass-blue eyes--so goddamn blue, Jesus Christ--all gentle and enamored and patient and eager to please. Hell, it’s probably got to do with the fact that he’s standing in front of a goddamn adonis who just named an apple pie after him, and if Dean lets him slip away, he’ll never forgive himself.

He doubts he’ll _ever_ know why he said it for sure, even though that last one is a pretty good guess, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “What’re you doing on the 29th?”

Castiel blinks. “The...I’m working, probably.”

“Do you think you could get it off?”

He furrows his brow in confusion, but before he can respond, Dean continues. “This is probably really weird, man,” he says, “but I’m kind of...I don’t have a date to my brother’s wedding, and please let me know if I’m off-base here, but, I mean, you made me a _pie_ , and…” He trails off, uncharacteristically uncertain, and as he waits for Castiel’s answer, he feels a tiny spark of anger and frustration at the fact that this guy can unravel him, reduce him to the equivalent of a teenager talking to his first crush, without even saying a word. Castiel stares at him silently for a few agonizingly long seconds, his face blank, and Dean tries his best to stay composed. Just as he’s about to open his mouth to take everything back and leave the bakery with the tiniest shred of his dignity intact, Castiel speaks.

“Anna,” he says, keeping his eyes on Dean’s, “I’d like to take the 29th off, please.”

Dean feels like he’s about to evaporate into a puddle like that chick in that French movie Sam made him watch--Emily, or Amelia, or something--as he flashes Castiel a wide, relieved smile. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Shit.” Dean takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair, glancing down at the floor. “Honestly, I was half-expecting you to tell me to fuck off,” he says with a weak laugh. Castiel just gives him a small shrug.

“I don’t think I would do that.”

Dean laughs once more. “Good to know.” He pauses, then adds, almost more to himself than Castiel, “This works. This’ll be fun. Thanks, Cas.”

He doesn’t even realize he’d said the nickname until Cas tilts his head to the side a little, a confused little smile on his face that’s doing nothing to make Dean think he’s any less good-looking. “Oh, shit, uh, sorry, Castiel, I just--”

“No,” Cas says, shaking his head. “I like it.” He gives Dean another smile, this one just as small but shining with a bit more confidence that makes warmth flare up in Dean’s chest. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean knocks his knuckles on the counter a few times before smiling awkwardly. “So, uh, yeah, I’ll just...see you there.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Great. I’ll, uh, see you then.” _Repetitive, you idiot._ Dean wants to punch himself.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too, man.”

After a few seconds of silence, Cas nods down toward the tray of temporarily forgotten cookies. “I should probably--”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, do your thing. I’ll just…” Dean trails off as he starts walking backwards out of the bakery. “I’ll see you later.” _Three times, Dean, you said you’d see him later_ three times _, are you fucking kidding? Get it together, Jesus._

Cas nods and offers one more small, closed-lipped smile before turning his attention to setting out the cookies.

The bell above the door tinkles as Dean presses his back up against the door and heads toward the Impala. He keeps his head down, focused on the sidewalk and road as he walks, but he’s smiling at the asphalt the entire time.

* * *

 

When Dean pushes open the front door and enters the living room, the first thing he sees is Sam wedged on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, his knees pulled up to his chest, his back flush with the front of the couch. Jess is sitting on the couch above him, her nimble fingers delicately braiding a leftover flower from the centerpieces into Sam’s hair.

“Well, aren’t you two just the epitome of a Hallmark wedding card,” Dean says as he plops down next to Jess on the couch.

Sam cranes his neck to look up at his brother. “‘Epitome.’ Nice word.”

Dean narrows his eyes before lifting a foot and knocking it against Sam’s head. “Fuck you. I know words. I _read_.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam makes a big show of looking around the living room. “I don’t see any food bags, though. What’d you get?”

Dean freezes. _Food. Right. Shit._ Before he can think about it too much, he blurts out, “Something way better than food, Sammy.”

“Yeah?” Sam’s cocks his head curiously. “What’s that?”

Dean points little finger guns at Sam-- _pew pew_ \--and flashes him a cheeky grin. “A date to your wedding.”

Jess lets out a delighted little squeal, and smacks Sam hard on the arm. “I _told_ you he’d do it!” she says, leaning across the couch and enveloping Dean in a tight hug. “I _told_ him you’d do it!”

Sam maneuvers himself around so that he’s facing Dean and Jess, his face frozen in surprise. “Castiel?” he asks.

“Of course it’s Castiel, Sam,” Jess says, reaching over and smacking Sam lightly on the head. “Who else would it be?” She glances at Dean for confirmation, and he gives her a quick nod. She pumps her fist. “ _Yes_! You owe me five bucks, babe.”

Dean whips his head back to stare at Jess. “Five bu--did you _bet_ on me?”

Jess flashes him a brilliant, wide smile and shrugs at him innocently. “Your gain is my gain, too,” she says, then snaps her fingers at Sam. He groans and pulls out his wallet, thumbing through until he finds a crumpled five-dollar bill.

“I didn’t think you’d be that predictable, dude,” Sam says, casting Dean a look of feigned annoyance over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you fucking _bet on me_!” Dean snaps. “I’m not a fucking racehorse, you know.”

Jess laughs and pockets the money, then gets to her feet and starts tugging on her boots. “It was only a matter of time,” she says, “and come on, Dean, you can’t say you’re not happy about Castiel saying yes.”

“Cas,” Dean says automatically, and he can feel a blush start to creep up his neck as he immediately realizes the slipup.

“You have a _nickname_ for him already?” Sam says in disbelief, shaking his head before turning toward Jess. “Jesus, he’s worse than you thought. Practically head-over-heels,” he adds, turning his attention back to Dean.

“Oh, fuck off,” Dean mutters, kicking lightly at Sam’s head again. Sam grabs at Dean’s ankle, trying to catch him off-guard and pull him off the couch, but Dean notices quickly and pulls his foot away. HIs baby brother might be strong, but there’s no way Dean’s giving him a chance to prove it.

“I’m getting some actual snacks this time,” Jess announces as she straightens up. “You two, don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

“Don’t ask the clerk at 7-Eleven to go to our wedding with you,” Sam calls, and Jess laughs.

“No promises.” She glances down at the nearly complete seating plan on the coffee table, then over at the brothers. “Might want to add one more name to the seating chart, hon,” Jess says, nudging Sam with her shoulder and winking at Dean.

Sam waits until the door closes behind Jess before turning on his brother and smacking him hard in the leg. “Dude, are you _insane_?”

“Jesus, _what_?” Dean snaps, glaring at Sam as he rubs the tender spot on his leg.

“You invited a dude you barely even know to our wedding? What if he’s crazy?”

“You met him, too--do _you_ think he's crazy?” Dean snaps. Sam opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Dean continues. “He’s not,” he says firmly, almost immediately jumping on the defensive for Cas and wondering why the hell he’s even doing so. Sam’s right, he _doesn’t_ know this guy. At all. But something about him just...works. Dean can’t explain it, and he’s not even sure that he really wants to. “He's cool, Sam. It'll be fine.”

Sam studies him for a few seconds, lips pursed together in consideration. “Don't blame me when it all blows up in your face, Dean.” He sprawls out and gets to his feet, then adds, “You're paying for the extra plate for him, dude.”

Dean groans and sprawls out across the couch. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sammy,” he calls across the room.

“It's what I'm here for.”

* * *

 

Later that night, Dean is back at his apartment and lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in a fruitless effort to fall asleep. As much as he wills them not to, Sam’s words are still creeping into his head. What if Cas _is_ crazy, and Dean’s just a shitty judge of character? It wouldn't be the first time. But Cas seemed harmless. He seemed just like his pastries--he was sweet, with his inability to make eye contact for more than ten seconds before looking shyly away (not that Dean’s kept track); the way the skin around his eyes crinkle a little when he smiles (not that Dean’s noticed); the way just the thought of him makes Dean’s stomach do an uncomfortable little flip.

No, Dean decides with finality, smirking smugly up at his ceiling. Cas isn't crazy. He's not bringing a crazy baker to his brother's wedding; he's bringing a hot-as-fuck baker to his brother’s wedding. There's a difference.

Jesus. He's literally living in a fucking romantic comedy. Who the fuck asks someone they just met to a _wedding_? An idiot, according to Sam. A hopeless romantic, according to Jess.

Dean, according to...well, to everyone.

He’s in the middle of trying to figure out which role he’d be cast as--Oblivious Object of Affection or Pining Best Friend--when he realizes something that might end up being important: Cas doesn’t have his phone number.

_Fuck._

His stomach clenches with anxiety as he throws his blankets off and swings his legs over the side of his bed. His toes dig into the carpet as he drops his head in his hands. Keeping his head down, he reaches blindly for his phone, palming around on the nightstand until his fingers wrap around it. Maybe the guy’s on Facebook. Dean unlocks his phone and is about to thumb over to the Facebook app when he stops himself. If Cas _is_ on Facebook--and let’s be honest, who isn’t--should Dean just send him a message? What if it goes to that goddamn _other_ folder and Cas never sees it? No, he can't risk that. A friend request, maybe? A friend request _and_ a message? Dean stares at his phone until the screen goes dim, then shakes his head quickly. He’s overthinking this. He just needs to nut up and--

The bakery.

He could just call the bakery.

Dean snaps his fingers and thumbs over to the safari icon, then quickly types in “bumblebee bakery lawrence.” It's the middle of the night, no one will answer, and Dean can just leave his message and Cas will hear it tomorrow. It'll be fine, great, problem solved.

Dean nods and presses the CALL button under the bakery’s Google listing. His phone connects almost immediately, and he waits, his heartbeat quickening with every ring until Cas’ recorded voice suddenly fills his ear.

_Hello, you’ve reached Bumblebee Bakery. Our hours are twelve p.m. to eight p.m. Monday through Friday, and nine a.m. to six p.m. Saturday and Sunday. We’re sorry we missed your call, but please leave your name, number, and a brief message, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you._

The beep comes too fast, and, distracted by the husky, gravelly tone of Cas’ voice, Dean finds himself stumbling right out of the gate. “Cas, hey, it’s, uh. It’s Dean. Dean Winchester, you know, the guy who asked you to his brother’s wedding even though you’d just met him a few days earlier. That’s me, I like to cut right to the chase.” He lets out a weak laugh that sounds forced and uncomfortable even to his ears, and he sighs, shaking out his free hand to try and calm his nerves. He takes a deep breath before starting over.

“Jesus. Cas, it’s Dean, and I just wanted to let you know that I forgot to ask you for your number. You know, so I can talk to you about wedding details, like the time and location and shit. So, uh, yeah. This is me, asking you for your number. Mine is 617-555-0258. And, uh, I guess I’ll talk to you later. And see you later. Hopefully. As long as I haven’t scared you off with that tour de force of awkwardness I just word-vomited onto your answering machine. I’m not usually that bad, I promise. Uh, so, yeah. Bye.”

Dean punches the END button on his phone and sets it back on the nightstand. He studies it for a few seconds, half expecting it to buzz to life, and for Cas to be on the other end, even though he knows that’s impossible. Finally, he allows himself a tiny shrug and mutters, “Could’ve been worse,” before burrowing back under the covers.

* * *

 

Dean spends most of the next day helping Sam and Jess decorate their venue, a niche little refurbished barn that's _very_ Sam and Jess. He almost falls off the ladder twice, balancing precariously to get the strings of white twinkle lights to drape at the perfect height and angle. He helps Sam arrange and rearrange the tables and chairs until Jess is sure that all the guests will be close enough together without invading each other’s personal space. He gives his opinion on which flower centerpiece should go where.

He does a lot of shit, so much that he doesn't notice that he has a missed call until later that night.

“Shit,” he mutters, staring down at his lock screen and the tiny “1 missed call, 1 new voicemail” notice. The number is new, nobody in his contacts, and he swallows hard in a futile attempt to control his nerves as he unlocks his phone and presses play on the message.

_Hello, Dean._

Dean unconsciously bites on his lower lip at the sound of his name in Cas’ mouth, and he grins down at the dusty barn floor as he continues to listen to the message.

 _This is Castiel--uh, Cas. Thank you for your message; if you hadn't called, I probably would have spent June 29th hopping from wedding to wedding until I found your brother’s. I'm hoping that your phone caught my number, but just in case, it’s 774-365-8414. I'm fairly sure of your brother and Jessica's wedding venue and time, since we'll be delivering their cake earlier in the day, but I would appreciate a small confirmation or reminder from you._ There's a pause, then, _I'm looking forward to seeing you then, Dean._ One more pause, a longer one this time, so long that Dean assumes Cas has hung up, and is about to do so himself when he hears, _And don’t worry, I’m not very good on the phone, either._


	2. Chapter 2

“You excited?” Dean asks, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror. He runs his palms over his thighs to smooth down his pants, then runs a gentle hand over his hair before turning his attention to Sam, who still hasn't responded. “Sammy?”

Sam is perched on the edge of a chair, wringing his hands nervously in his lap. He grins down at the floor before admitting, “Nervous.” He takes a deep breath before looking up at Dean. “Really,  _ really  _ nervous.”

“Aw, come on, don't be.” Dean playfully kicks at Sam’s polished dress shoe. “It's a done deal, man, you're marrying a cool, gorgeous girl who for some reason sees something in you and is willing to be stuck with your nerdy ass for the rest of eternity.”

Sam chuckles at that, and Dean grins before tugging on Sam’s jacket sleeve and bringing him to his feet. “You,” he continues, reaching out and adjusting Sam’s tie so that it’s not crooked anymore, “are gonna do great. I’ve seen you two together, man, and sometimes it’s kind of nauseating how in love you are.”

Sam smirks down at him, and Dean knows exactly what he’s going to say, how he’s going to make some wiseass comment about whatever the hell is brewing between him and Cas again, so he points threateningly at him and adds, “No. Don’t even say it.” 

Sam laughs, and this time, it’s a regular Sammy laugh, one that Dean’s come to know and love. He doesn’t sound nervous or hesitant like he did earlier, and Dean grins as he puts the finishing touches on his little brother’s tie. “Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about.”

Dean wishes he could say the same about himself.

He and Cas hadn’t had time to actually call each other since the voicemail incident, but they had sent a few texts back and forth, confirming dates and directions and venues, strictly business. Cas had said that he’d be there, that he was looking forward to it, but Dean wouldn’t believe it until he saw those eyes staring at him from one of the rickety-ass wicker chairs Jess had picked out for the guests to sit on during the ceremony. Now he’s just gotta get out there without puking or passing out from nerves.

Dean blinks quickly a few times to pull himself out of his own head, then focuses back on Sam, who gives him a hesitant but excited little smile. Instinctively, Dean grabs Sam in a hug, staying that way for a solid thirty seconds before pulling back and looking his gigantic little brother up and down.

“Let’s go get you hitched before those nerves make you puke all over the place, huh?”

* * *

 

Sam and Jess had chosen to go with an outdoor wedding, and as Dean approaches the ceremony site with the rest of the bridal party, he has to admit that they nailed it. The whole thing screams Sam and Jess, from the white wicker chairs (that, admittedly, Dean is glad he doesn’t have to sit in; he’s not sure that they’d hold his weight) to the white, flowing lace that lines the “aisle.” There are tiny clusters of flowers secured to the side of each seat lining the aisle, and the ceremony space is a white wicker overhang with more draped lace and flowers.

It’s simple yet elegant; it’s Sam yet Jess.

Dean keeps his gaze forward as he walks down the aisle arm-in-arm with Miranda, Jess’ best friend and maid of honor. He doesn’t want to risk accidentally making eye contact with Cas and tripping over himself. It’s cute when a five-year-old ring bearer does it; it’s just fodder for  _ America’s Funniest Home Videos  _ and national humiliation if it’s done by a grown-ass man. They separate once they arrive in front of Sam, and Dean slides over so that he’s standing next to his brother, his hands clasped respectfully in front of him.

“You look good,” Sam breathes. Dean smirks and looks down at his freshly-shined shoes that are quickly getting dusty. He normally hates the way he looks in a suit, but the tailor Jess had chosen must have magic running through his threads, because Dean thinks he looks good, too. He opens his mouth to say so when Sam adds, “Castiel looks better.”

Dean’s head shoots up immediately at that, and he can feel his cheeks going red. Even though he doesn’t want them to, even though it goes directly against his plan of not seeing Cas until later, when he has less of a chance of making a fool of himself, his eyes scan the crowd until they lock onto Cas. 

“Shit,” he mutters, jerking his head back down before Cas can catch him looking, fast enough to give himself whiplash. He can see the corner of Sam’s mouth twitch up in a grin.

“Told you.”

Dean huffs. “Keep an eye out for your bride, Clinton Kelly.” 

There are still a couple more bridesmaids and groomsmen left to walk the aisle before he has to focus his attention on Jess, too, so once he’s sure that Sam isn’t watching him anymore, he hesitantly peeks back up. Cas is looking down, probably reading the program, so Dean has a few seconds to study him before he’ll inevitably notice. He can’t see much; Cas is sitting a few rows back and Dean has to peek between heads and over shoulders, but what little of the baker he can see, it’s clear that Sam is right--in a dark blue button-down that probably brings out the color in his eyes, probably hugs his chest in all the right ways, Cas looks  _ good _ . 

When the opening notes of “Pachelbel’s Canon” start to play, Dean forces himself to look away from Cas. As Jess starts to walk down the aisle, Dean can practically see Sammy start to melt next to him. He glances up, and Sam’s got a giant smile on his face, and his eyes are wet and shining in the late afternoon sunlight. Dean wonders what it must be like to see someone who’s so beautiful, who you love so goddamn much they make you cry on sight. When he glances at his future sister-in-law, Dean can see the same pure adoration and joy in her eyes, too, and in that moment, he knows that they’ll be okay.

The ceremony starts, and Dean can’t help but start to wonder for a split second if he’ll find someone who, when Sammy looks at them, will know that they’ll be okay, too. 

* * *

 

“There’s always a little bit of nervousness that comes along with a marriage, I think,” Dean says, twirling the microphone cord a bit before leaning back against the head table. “Is it gonna last? Are they gonna tough it out together? There’s no question here, though.” He jerks his thumb back at Sam and Jess. “Y’all can take it from me, because I saw the way they both looked at each other during that ceremony--there’s no way you’re prying these two apart. Ever.”

Dean grins broadly as everyone laughs at that, and he chest swells with pride when he sees Sam pull Jess closer, tightening his arm around her shoulders. He palms around on the table behind him until his fingers close around the thin, delicate stem of his champagne glass. He lifts it up and waits for everyone else to do so, as well, before he adds, “To Sam and Jess.”

Everyone in the barn echoes the sentiment, and Dean downs his glass, hoping to add it to his stock of liquid courage for later, when he’ll inevitably have to find, make smalltalk with, and attempt not to make a complete ass of himself in front of the most attractive baker in Lawrence.

Dean means to find Cas, he really does. Even though he’s one of the few people who can intimidate Dean without even trying, he’s looking forward to locking those eyes with his own again, maybe grab a beer and talk a little more.

But there are just so many people to make smalltalk with. Even though his and Sam’s immediate family just consists of the two of them, they’ve got adopted family for miles. From Ellen and Jo, Charlie and Garth, to Bobby and Rufus and Ash, Dean is shuffled from one table to another, shaking hands and giving hugs and accepting congratulations on his brother’s behalf.

So when he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around, he’s expecting another family member he had somehow missed. Instead, though, he comes face-to-face with Cas, who offers him a gentle, closed-lipped smile that has Dean working hard to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. If Cas looked good when Dean was peeking at him in between rows of people, he looks even better up close. This time, nobody’s in the way to obstruct the way his dress shirt and pants hug his slim frame in all the right ways, how his dark blue shirt really  _ does  _ bring out the piercing blue of his eyes, how his burgundy tie is slightly askew, like it’s the first time in a while--or ever--he’s worn one, but that doesn’t matter because he looks endearing as hell and Dean just wants to grab him and press their lips together before he can talk himself out of it.

“Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Listen, shit, I’m sorry, I meant to come find you, but I just--” He waves a hand weakly around him, and Cas chuckles before waving his apology away.

“I have a large family, too. I understand.”

“Oh. Uh, good.” Dean shifts awkwardly, jams his hands deep into his pockets. “So, uh…”

“I enjoyed your speech,” Cas interrupts, sensing Dean’s discomfort.

Dean brightens. “Yeah?”

Cas nods. “It’s clear that you love Sam very much.”

“Yeah...I do.”

“And it was short, which I know many people at my table appreciated. I think they were hungry.”

Dean stares at Cas for a few seconds, then racks his brain to try and remember who else had been seated at table nine. When he does remember--Charlie, Garth, Benny, and a couple of Sam’s friends from Stanford--he laughs. “Yeah, that’s not surprising.”  _ Come on, Winchester, let’s go _ . “So, uh, do you--”

He’s cut off suddenly by the DJ, whose voice comes booming over the last few seconds of an upbeat dance song Dean had never heard of. The opening notes of a soft, flowing, slow song start playing behind him, and Dean immediately averts his eyes when he realizes what’s coming.

“It’s one of the last slow dances of the night, folks,” the DJ says as the dance floor starts to fill up with couples. “Better get out there and sweep your special someone off their feet, before it’s too late. Don’t let Sam and Jess have all the fun, now!”

When Dean finally looks up again, Cas is looking at him with an amused little smile on his face.  _ Just do it, Winchester, come on _ . “Uh, wanna dance?”

Cas raises his eyebrows at the offer, and Dean’s heart plummets for a split second as he wonders if he completely misread all the events leading up to now.

“Y’know what, we don’t--”

“No,” Cas interrupts. “I mean, I’d like to, but it’s…” He trails off and tilts his head toward the dance floor, which is packed with slow-dancing couples, and suddenly it clicks in Dean’s brain.

“Too crowded,” Dean finishes, and Cas nods.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I--”

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he says.  _ Suave, debonair, keep it going, kid.  _ He quickly closes the space between him and Cas, and continues, “What if we stayed here? Easier to talk, anyway.”

Even in the dimmed light of the barn, Dean can see Cas’ face flush with relief, and he smiles at the warmth that’s building up in his gut at seeing Cas pleased. He nods, and Dean takes the opportunity to touch Cas for the first time, resting his hands on the baker’s slim hips.

“So…” Dean says slowly, ignoring the bolt of electricity that runs through his body when he feels Cas place his hands on his own hips. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Dean chews on his lower lip for a second. “Why’d you do this? Agree to going to this with me?” He laughs humorlessly. “I mean, Jess thinks it’s sweet, but Sammy was pretty quick to ask what the hell I was thinking, that I had barely met you, and who the hell invites someone they barely know to their brother’s goddamn wedding, you know?” Dean opens his mouth to continue, but then he realizes that he’s rambling, so he closes it quickly and looks expectantly at Cas.

Cas licks his lips thoughtfully, taking care to avoid Dean’s gaze, and Dean can tell that he’s choosing his words carefully. “My sister, the same one you met at the bakery, thinks that I’m...too safe. I like to keep my routines, and taking risks isn’t something that comes naturally to me. It almost felt like a test, having you ask me to this. A very outlandish test, but still. Something to force me out of my regular routine, which my sister believes I sorely need.

“Plus,” Cas adds quickly, “you’re very handsome.”

Dean barks out a laugh at the last part, and he closes the space between them even more when he catches the spark of amusement in Cas’ eye. “So I’m a test for you?” Dean asks, not sure if he should be flattered or offended.

“I suppose you can say that.”

“Huh. How’s it going so far?”

Cas gives him a small, hopeful smile. “Very well.” He lifts one hand away from Dean’s hips, and it’s all Dean can do not to reach up and grab it and put it back where it was. His skin feels cold without Cas’ hand there to warm it up, and he’s not sure that he wants to go back to the way it was before Cas first touched it. “So far,” he says, pointing a no-nonsense finger at Dean.

Dean chuckles, and Cas is quick to break his faux-serious face. “So far,” he repeats. “Well, let’s see if we can keep it going that way, huh?”

Cas smiles. “Let’s.”

The slow song finishes after another minute or so, but Dean and Cas keep dancing, long after the song ends.

* * *

 

If you asked Dean how it happened, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. First he and Cas were dancing at the wedding, having a pretty good time, if Dean says so himself, and once the wedding was over, they just...didn’t stop talking. They hung out, they went on dates, they kissed, they made it official, and now, nearly a year later, Dean’s sitting in Gerardo’s Bakery with a simple black band on his left ring finger. 

He twirls the ring absently around his finger before glancing up at Cas, whose gaze is flickering anxiously around the bakery. The small table they're seated at is shaking from Cas constantly bouncing his knee underneath it, and Dean knows that Cas is nervous. “Hey,” he says, reaching under the table to rest his hand on his fiance’s knee in an attempt to stop his leg from shaking. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Cas says distractedly, “it's just, this is a very nice bakery, Dean.”

“Well, yeah. It's got great reviews online, that's part of why we picked it. We'll find a sweet cake here.”

“I know. It's just…” Cas gives a tiny shrug. “It's much nicer than mine and Anna’s, and I guess I'm just--”

And suddenly it clicks for Dean. “Wait,” he interrupts. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that you don't think you're as good as this place? Is that what you're telling me?”

Cas doesn't answer, but his silence and the way he won't meet Dean’s eye is answer enough.

“Listen,” Dean says, craning his neck to force Cas to look at him. “This place is shit compared to yours, okay? The only reason we're doing this--the  _ only  _ one--is so that you don't get stressed out and have a breakdown trying to make your own damn wedding cake. This place is second-best to you, no question. Hell, if I was getting married to someone else, we'd be at your place. Okay?”

Cas closes his eyes and shakes his head with a small smile.

“Hey.” Dean gently cups Cas’ cheek in his hand and tilts his head toward him. “Don't compare yourself. You're so much better than some fucking...gelato or whatever.”

“It's called Gerardo’s, Dean.”

Dean scoffs and pulls his hand away from Cas’ cheek to wave it dismissively. “Gerardo, gelato, whatever. Just promise you won’t compare yourself. I mean, honestly, it’s unfair to this place, because there’s no way they’re as good as you. Capiche?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now let's taste some subpar cakes, huh?”

 

The next two hours are filled with a rotating selection of cake slices and Dean’s snarky comments, crafted specifically to try and boost Cas’ baking self-esteem. The owner of Gerardo’s, a stuffy-looking man named Michael, shoots Dean dirty looks every time he comments on even the smallest bite of cake, but Dean has no intention of stopping, especially because each comment makes Cas’ smile grow a little bit more. 

“Yours is better.”

“Not half bad. Did they use one of your recipes for this one, Cas?”

“This would be better with a side of bee-scotti, don’t’cha think, Cas?”

After nearly a half hour of this, it’s clear that Michael is losing his patience. He gruffly sets two plates of chocolate cake with buttercream icing down in front of them and folds his arms across his chest as he waits for Dean’s next comment. Dean takes one bite and chews thoughtfully. “This is great,” he says, and Michael tries to stop his jaw from dropping.

“Really? I’m glad to hear it. Now, would you two like to try any m--”

“It’d be perfect if Cas Novak made it, though.”

* * *

 

“Pinterest?” Cas’ voice is filled with confusion as he reads out the name. “What is this?”

Dean’s sitting on the floor, his back up against the couch. He cranes his neck back and looks up to see his fiance sitting on the couch, squinting suspiciously at his laptop screen, his nose wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t know, man. Jess used it for her and Sammy’s wedding and she swears by it.” Dean shrugs before going back to researching potential wedding venues on his own laptop. “Organization and shit. She said it’d be a good place to find ideas for invitations.”

Cas hmms to himself as he starts typing, and Dean zones out as he continues his own search. He’s just starting to watch a slideshow of the grounds of some place called Cathedral of the Pines when Cas’ socked foot nudges his shoulder.

“Dean! Look at these, these,  _ life hacks _ .” Before Dean can turn around, Cas holds the laptop in front of his face for two seconds, then pulls it back. “We can clean the microwave so much more easily now,” he murmurs.

“Cas, we’ve  _ never  _ cleaned the microwave.”

“Maybe that’s because we never had any of these.”

Dean’s face softens as he turns back around and looks at Cas’ face, rapt with attention at the screen. “What about invitations, huh?”

Cas sighs and slouches down into the couch cushions. “Fine.”

 

 

An hour later, when Cas heads out to pick up the pizza they’d ordered, Dean grabs his fiance’s laptop and spins it around to face him. He’s expecting a few different options for invitations, maybe a DIY idea or two, but instead, there are several different boards devoted to nothing even remotely like their wedding. 

There’s boards titled “Kitchen Hacks,” “Xmas Recipes,” “Living Room Deco,” and “Bedroom Redo,” but nothing about the big day.

Dean rolls his eyes and is about to close Cas’ laptop and get ready to remind him that they’re running out of time for sending out the invitations and does he  _ really  _ think gathering ways to refurbish the TV stand for under $50 is the best use of their time, when he scrolls down and notices another board, “Dean’s Garage.”

_ Well,  _ Dean thinks, mousing over to the board and clicking on it,  _ nothing wrong with a little distraction. _

* * *

 

“You coming out soon, or what?”

Dean worries his lower lip between his teeth as he looks himself up and down in the dressing room mirror. He never feels comfortable in these stupid goddamn monkey suits, and apparently the one he’ll be wearing to his own wedding won’t be any different. He shuffles awkwardly, watching the way the black fabric of his pants and suit jacket swish subtly against his body, before taking a deep breath and stepping outside. 

Sam is sitting in a fancy white chair that’s way too small for his gangly frame. His face is carefully blank at first, and it drives Dean crazy. He tries to make light of the situation, hide his self-consciousness a bit, and holds his hands out before spinning sharply on his heel in an attempt to model all aspects of the outfit at once.

“So?” he asks. “On a scale of one to ten, one being you, ten being, well,  _ me _ .”

Sam laughs humorlessly and flips Dean off. “You look good. Not as good as me,” he adds quickly, “but good, Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean turns to look at himself in the full-length, three-panel mirror, and even though he feels uncomfortable as hell, he’s got to admit, his brother’s right. He had opted to go for an all-black route--black jacket, shirt, pants, and shoes, all accented by a deep blue tie that, as cheesy as it sounds, reminds him of the blue of Cas’ eyes. His hands fiddle with the knot at his throat, trying to make the tie straighter, but he eventually gives up when it’s clear that this is as good as it’s going to get. “As long as I’m not going to repulse Cas or anything.”

“Pretty sure that’s impossible.”

Dean grins, then takes a few more seconds to admire himself in the mirror before glancing at Sam’s reflection. “So?”

“So, what?”

Dean turns around and looks flatly at the real Sam this time. “ _ So _ , how does Cas look?”

Before they made the initial suit fitting appointment, Anna had mentioned to Cas that it would be cute if he and Dean did their fittings separately, so that they would see each other for the first time on their actual wedding day. Dean had rolled his eyes and dismissed the idea immediately, thinking that it was the epitome of cheesy and cliche; he expected Cas to think the same, but he threw Dean a curveball and loved the idea. 

Sam had been assigned to go to both fittings, just to make sure Dean and Cas at least coordinated their outfits decently. Dean had left his brother with explicit instructions to make sure Cas looked good. He learned from experience that his fiance actually has zero fashion sense, and looks haphazardly put together most of the time; the only reason he had looked so good at Sam and Jess’ wedding was because Anna had helped him coordinate the outfit.

Sam smirks and leans back in the chair. “Remember how I said Cas looked good at our wedding?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“He looks even better now.”

Dean freezes, then glares up at his little brother. “Fuck you, that’s not fair.”

Sam laughs. “He’s just as nervous about impressing you as you are about him.”

Dean can’t help it; he feels his lips quirking up into a small smile at this information. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “He had me sit through at least eight different styles of suit jacket, and five ties.”

Dean chuckles as he tries to ignore the burst of warmth in his gut and the flush that’s starting to creep up his neck and cheeks.

“Trust me,” he says, getting to his feet and clapping Dean on the shoulder. “Neither of you have anything to worry about.”

* * *

 

“Why do we even  _ need  _ a first dance?” Dean asks. “Why can’t our whole wedding just be Zeppelin and AC/DC? Y’know, the good stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dean,” Cas says, thumbing through the music on his phone. “There’s this little thing called ‘tradition’ that I’d like to adhere to, if you don’t mind.”

Dean groans before falling back onto the couch, letting his limbs sprawl across the cushions so much that Cas has to nudge him to the side just to sit down himself. “Don’t be a child,” he says, lightly tapping Dean on the nose like he’s a misbehaving dog. “You said you’d give some songs a chance.”

“How many songs are we talkin’?”

“Enough,” Cas answers as he hits the play button.

The second the upbeat banjo music starts playing, Dean barks out a laugh. “Hurry up, Cas, we’re gonna miss the hoedown.”

Cas nudges him affectionately-- _ cut it out _ \--before saying, “It was a suggestion from Sam and Jess.”

“‘Course it was.” Dean listens to the lyrics for a couple of seconds before latching onto  _ we could get each other through the night _ . He grins and elbows Cas, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “ _ I _ can get you through the night,” he says. “Huh, huh?” 

“Stop it, Dean.”

Dean scoffs, but scoots closer to Cas and drapes his arm across his shoulders just the same. “Is it even a love song?”

Cas purses his lips and furrows his brows together in that stupidly adorable way Dean loves. “I think it’s got elements of love,” he finally says.

“Hate to break it to ya, Cas, but you’re not gonna get me to dance to this.”

“I figured as much.” Cas hits the skip button on his phone.

Dean only needs a few seconds to decide that he doesn’t like the next song, either. “Jesus, this is morbid,” he mutters.

“You don’t think his voice is nice?”

“‘We found each other in the dark’?” Dean repeats the lyrics hesitantly. “It’s not like we met in a cave or something, Cas. It might be nice, but it’s bumming me out, and I don’t really want to be bummed on what’s supposed to be the best day of my life.” He cranes his neck and glances at Cas’ phone screen. “No offense, uh, City and Colour.”

They spend the next fifteen minutes or so listening to the first few seconds of songs, only to have Dean dismiss them quickly. 

_ Be My Honeypie _ gets a “Christ, Cas, what are we, twelve?”

_ Your Song  _ earns a quick “Nope.”

_ Home  _ makes Dean side-eye Cas quicker than he ever has before.

“What?” Cas asks defensively.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“It’s a nice sentiment. Plus, they mention pie.”

“Keep going, Romeo.”

Cas sighs and thumbs through his phone before choosing yet another song. As the song starts to play, Cas sets his phone back on the coffee table and looks warily at Dean, who wrinkles his nose.

“Piano?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Just listen to it, Dean. Give it a chance. Please.”

Dean rolls his eyes and drapes his arm across Cas’ shoulders, pulling him close. “You’re lucky I love you, you nerd.”

_ I don’t get many things right the first time _ __   
_ In fact, I am told that a lot _ __   
_ Now I know all the wrong turns and stumbles and falls brought me here _ __   
_ And where was I before the day that I first saw your lovely face? _ _   
_ __ Now I see it everyday.

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Dean starts to fidget against Cas. “Okay,” he says, unconsciously keeping his voice low to match the tone of the song. “It’s not bad.”

Cas’ face brightens and he grabs Dean’s hand, pulls him to his feet, and rests his hands on Dean’s hips. Even though it first happened over a year ago, Dean feels that same shock of electricity at Cas’ touch, and he’s quick to reach for Cas, as well. He lets Cas take the lead, letting his body move however Cas wants it to as they start to slow-dance in the middle of the living room. Cas hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean grins before planting a soft kiss on his dark mess of hair.

“I love you,” Dean murmurs.

Cas doesn’t reply; instead, he tilts his head and presses a quick kiss against Dean’s neck. They keep their pace slow, waltzing around the living room, and suddenly, Dean finds himself feeling it again. That same feeling he felt looking at Cas one day and just knowing that yeah, he wanted this man with him for the rest of his life. He feels comforted, peaceful, like everything will be okay.

“I could dance to this,” he says, and when Cas looks up at him with those clear blue eyes all bright with excitement, Dean wonders if their first dance will be able to give him the same butterflies and contentment that he’s got now, just the two of them, dancing in the living room. He hopes so; he really,  _ really  _ likes the feeling.

* * *

 

“Dean!”

Dean blinks quickly and jerks himself out of his reverie, staring at Sam without trying to look too startled--or, well, nervous. “Huh?”

“I said, are you excited?” Sam is looking at him expectantly, his arms folded across his chest, a knowing little grin on his face.

“I, yeah,” Dean stammers, running a hand through his hair. “I think so. Maybe a little sick, too.”

Sam chuckles and walks over to Dean. He rests his hands on Dean’s shoulders for a couple of seconds before busying his hands with fixing Dean’s tie, and Dean is struck by the fact that a little more than a year ago, their positions were reversed.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s how I was feeling, too,” Sam says. He fiddles with the tie a bit more before finally dropping it and turning his attention back to Dean. “You’re perfect for him, Dean,” Sam says quietly. “I don’t want you thinking you don’t deserve him, or that he could do better, because that’s bullshit and I can guarantee that Cas doesn’t think anything remotely like that. You’re lucky to have each other. Got it?”

Dean stares at Sam for a few seconds, then nods. “Yeah,” he says, more to himself than Sam at first. “Yeah.”

Sam grins before enveloping him in a hug so tight it leaves Dean feeling slightly lightheaded. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” he says softly.

* * *

  
  


Dean wets his lips anxiously as he stands in the small gazebo, out of sight of the guests. Cas is supposed to meet him here, and no matter how hard he tries, Dean can’t stop his nerves from taking charge, a mixture of anxiety and excitement burning bright in his chest. He sticks his hands deep into his pockets and takes a deep breath when he hears that familiar, musty voice from behind him.

“Hello, Dean.”

When Dean turns around and looks at Cas, he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Sam had been right; the Cas standing before him now looks even better than the one at the wedding, and Dean isn’t sure how to react. As if by instinct, he starts to look around to see if this perfect human specimen is with anyone, but then it hits him-- _ he’s with me _ .

“Hey,” Dean says, his face breaking into a wide smile. “You look... _ great _ .”

Cas gives him a shy but pleased smile. “So do you.”

Dean takes a few steps forward and leans in to press his lips against Cas’, but then stops himself. “You don’t know how hard it is not to kiss you right now.”

Cas laughs. “You think it’s easy for me?” 

“I  _ know  _ it’s not easy for you. I mean, look who you’re marrying here,” Dean says, gesturing at himself with a smirk. “It must suck.”

“I think I can handle it.” Cas holds out his hand and looks up at Dean. “Shall we?”

Dean doesn’t have to think twice; he grabs Cas’ hand and entwines their fingers together. As they start to walk along the cobblestone path toward the ceremony space, Dean suddenly feels Cas lean in and press a quick kiss on his cheek.

“What you have to look forward to,” he says in response, grinning at the way Dean’s cheeks go hot.

 

 

Dean doesn’t usually like being the center of attention, but as he and Cas walk hand-in-hand down the makeshift aisle--a bit more rustic than Sam and Jess’; no white wicker chairs or flowers, but outdoorsy nonetheless--he doesn’t find himself bothered that so many people are watching him. He feels safe with Cas’ hand in his, something he’s never really been able to feel with anyone else.

Everything feels like a blur as they walk and take their positions on either side of Charlie, one of Dean’s best friends from the comic shop who had been a little  _ too  _ excited to get ordained for the ceremony, and Dean finds himself wishing he could stop and focus on everything going on, but at the same time, all he wants is for Charlie to pick up the pace with the vows and the “dearly beloved”s and all that shit. He doesn’t have to wait too long, though; before he knows it, Charlie and Cas are looking expectantly at him.

He looks helplessly at Charlie, who grins before thumping him on the shoulder. “Vows,” she says softly, so only he and Cas can hear. “You’re up first.”

“Vows,” Dean repeats, then clears his throat. “Right. You…” Dean’s voice trails off as he stares into Cas’ wide blue eyes. He glances down for a split second, and that’s when he notices Cas’ tie. It’s not blue, like his; instead, it’s a light, clear green color that looks vaguely familiar. Cas looks like he’s slightly confused but trying to hide it, and Dean chuckles softly to himself as he reaches out and rubs his thumb against the fabric of the tie. “You make me so goddamn happy, Cas,” he says, looking back up at Cas before continuing. “I feel happy with you, and safe, and strong. And I mean, honestly, that’s all I can really ever hope for, and you gave it to me. So I look forward to a lifetime of trying to return the favor.”

That gets a smattering of laughter from the guests, and that warmth in his chest is back when Cas squeezes his hands before pulling a piece of paper out of the pocket of his suit jacket. 

“I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m not really the best with words,” Cas begins, “so I’d like to share a quote instead from one of my favorite authors.

“‘I love you’ means that I accept you for the person that you are, and that I do not wish to change you into someone else. It means that I will love you and stand by you even through the worst of times. It means loving you even when you’re in a bad mood, or too tired to do the things I want to do. It means loving you when you’re down, not just when you’re fun to be with. ‘I love you’ means that I know your deepest secrets and do not judge you for them, asking in return that you do not judge me for mine. It means that I care enough to fight for what we have and that I love you enough not to let go. It means thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting and needing you constantly, and hoping you feel the same way for me.’”

Cas folds up the paper and tucks it away before reaching for Dean’s hands again. “It’s nice,” he finishes, “because I don’t need to worry about hoping that Dean feels the same way for me; I know he does. And I can’t thank him enough for that.”

_ Well, shit.  _

Dean feels his jaw drop open just slightly at Cas’ majestic vows, and suddenly, thinking back to his stream-of-consciousness vows makes him feel self-conscious and uncomfortable, two things Dean Winchester rarely feels. Cas being Cas, though, seems to sense Dean’s discomfort and mouths, “They were perfect,” and runs his thumb reassuringly across Dean’s knuckles.

Dean relaxes at that, and tries to stay present as he slides a ring on Cas’ finger, then feels the weight of a new ring on his own. The new band is simple and silver, and it already feels like a part of Dean, like something he’ll never be able to part from.

“Dean and Castiel,” Charlie says excitedly. Dean glances at her and smirks at her energy, just barely restraining herself from jumping up and down. “I pronounce you partners for life. Now kiss!”

And Dean cups Cas’ face in his hands, leans in, and kisses.

 

 

“Jesus, you were like Shakespeare out there, huh?” Dean asks. “Couldn’t have given a guy a little warning?”

They’re standing outside the reception hall, waiting for everyone to be seated and the doors to open so they can make their first official entrance as a married couple. Cas laughs and nudges into Dean with his shoulder.

“I had no idea what else to say,” he says. “Besides, it’s true.” He leans in and waits for Dean to meet him halfway for a kiss, which Dean does gladly.

The music starts to get softer and Benny, who had volunteered his DJing services the second he heard the news, taps the microphone to get everyone’s attention. His smoky southern drawl echoes through the room and out into the hallway. “Without further ado, the moment y’all have been waiting for, I’m proud to introduce for the first time Castiel and Dean Winchester!”

Dean takes a deep breath and holds his hand out to Cas without looking at him. When he feels Cas’ fingers entwine with his, he feels a burst of adrenaline, but also a burst of calm, knowing that with Cas, everything is going to be okay.

He feels like a rock star as they enter the reception hall, music playing and everyone standing and cheering. Dean’s not sure if he’s ever smiled as wide as he is right now, and when somebody whistles, Dean raises his hand that’s holding Cas’ so that they’re both up in the air; as far as he’s concerned, he’s won. It doesn’t matter what the competition was, he won.

They stop in the middle of the dance floor and that same piano music starts playing. Dean clasps his hands together around Cas’ waist, leaning in closer when he feels Cas do the same to him. They start swaying slowly to the first dance song they had picked that day in the living room, and Dean presses his lips to Cas’ once more, reveling in the way he can feel Cas’ lips curve up in a smile under his own. When they stop kissing, Cas tilts his head forward and rests his forehead against Dean’s.

_ And where was I before the day  _ __   
_ That I first saw your lovely face? _ _   
_ __ Now I see it everyday.

_ In a wide sea of eyes, _ _   
_ _ I see one pair that I recognize _

_ And I know _ __   
_ That I am, I am, I am, _ _   
_ __ The luckiest.

And Dean’s one hundred perfect sure that yeah, he is. He really fucking is.

* * *

 

“Are you planning on taking that shirt off anytime soon, Dean?”

Dean laughs, not looking up from the thank-you note he’s writing for Ellen and Jo. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s starting to smell.”

“You can bury me in this shirt, Cas. I’ve been waiting to see Middle Earth for years; there’s no way you’re getting this off me for at least two weeks.”

Cas wrinkles his nose. “That’s disgusting,” he says, bending down to study his own thank-you note that he’d been writing for Anna and their brother, Gabe. “I knew New Zealand was a bad idea.”

Sam had accused Dean of talking Cas into going to New Zealand for their honeymoon so he could see all of the remaining sets and tours of filming sites for  _ The Lord of the Rings _ , and sure, that might’ve had  _ something  _ to do with it--”They’re modern classics, Sammy, so sue me”--but after seeing the way Cas fell into bed night after night with an exhausted but content smile on his face after each one of their adventures,  _ Lord of the Rings _ -related or not, Dean knows they made the right call.

“You’re just regretting you didn’t get one for yourself.”

“That’s exactly it,” Cas says, rolling his eyes.

Dean stretches his legs out under the table, his feet searching until they tangle themselves up with Cas’. Once he’s feeling Cas’ warmth mixed up with his, he finishes up Ellen and Jo’s card, then glances down at his list of cards left to write. A handful of names have already been crossed off, and the next one is for Sam and Jess.

Sam and Jess. Dean absently sticks his pen into his mouth as he considers the small blank card in front of him. He’s got a lot to thank them for; he and Cas both do, but the issue is how to fit everything he wants to say into this tiny little space. He’d need to thank them for meeting each other in the first place, for deciding to get married, for somehow finding and choosing the one bakery that employs the cutest baker in Lawrence, for convincing him to go out and get snacks that one time so long ago. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, and Dean chews on the pen cap thoughtfully, running his tongue over the indents his teeth make in the plastic.

Then it hits him--a way to say everything he needs to, to thank them for every single thing they’ve done. It should take hundreds of words to do, but Dean only needs four.

 

_ Sam & Jess-- _

_ Thanks for being late. _

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas' quote in his vows is from Jonathan Safran Foer!
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys! Hope you enjoyed <3


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